The Case Study
by HelloPoppet123
Summary: Cambria Vale, a rather unorthodox psychologist, is assigned to monitor the Avengers team- before S.H.I.E.L.D. realizes she's as every bit cheeky, flippant, and unruly as her patients. Movie-verse.
1. Chapter 1

** Chapter One:**

** *Warning: AVENGERS spoilers ahead!***

_Cambria Vale: Project Psychologist: This position's responsibilites orbit around managing the Avengers Initiative's inner social aspects. A close watch of the group's activities is required at all times, purely to facilitate any personal conflicts. _

Cambria stared critically at the job description held in her hands.

The first day. The _first _day. It was the first day and she was squeezing into the idiotic, goth/emo ballerina-suit that she had had the measurements taken for a month prior. Due to a sharp memory, she recalled the incident with startling clarity.

The lumpy woman, dark hair greased and pulled back into an impeccable, face-tautening bun, had immediately a scrutinizing sheen in her sharp eyes. "You're going to work for S.H.I.E.L.D.?" Voice grinding, like broken glass being churned to powder, she sounded doubtful.

Cambria had a half-cocked grin. "Yep. Why, my ass too big for the leather suit?"

The size-taker locked her in a withering, dead stare. "No. Turn around; I need your waist measurement now."

Cambria glared, surly, right back. The woman roughly spun her the opposite direction, flaccid arms snaking around her waist and clinching the measuring tape shut.

"Damn, girl!" Cambria jumped as the woman emitted a joyous voice. "You got a tiny waist!"

"Yes," the twenty-six-year-old breathed, "I work out. Frequently. And I can tell you do, too." The sarcasm poured from her voice like thick honey.

And with that the measurer said flatly, "Whatever, moron," and the two were back to hating each other.

It was now thirty-one days later, the second of June, and she was in her peeling crap-car, speeding to her starter day at a top-sectret government thing. Or something. She'd heard about it through a friend there telling her about the open psychology position.

And she was _speeding_- not that she knew, of course. Her foot just got a little heavier each second as she glanced around the interior of the bomber, to anywhere except the sinister red hand dancing over the _95 _mark. The whole car shook and wailed, terrible, dying, guttural screams coming from the general direction of the engine, but she studiously ignored them.

Her mother had stickered neon Post-it notes all over her dashboard, as only the mother of a constantly jobless PhD would do; _Don't be weird. Don't be loud. Don't be funny. Don't fart. Don't scream. Don't jump off anything tall. Try not to cuss. Don't be accidentally racist. Don't be stupid. Be serious and professional. YOU CAN'T LIVE IN MY BASEMENT ANYMORE, SO DON'T SCREW THIS UP._

Cambria had gone to a little-known local college, having not enough "well-roundedness" for Yale or Stanford or any of those places, but not like she cared. Her mom had been pushing for a scholarship to both those school, but since most of her schooltime was spent socializing... well, baby Cambria got her doctorate at Faith College.

Cambria had been told many times in her youth she was strange. She'd also been told that during college, too. Every single job she'd ever had immediately exploded in her face, but they were all for her extended family had disowned her when she sort of accidentally killed their cat by making him drown in his waterbowl.

It's not like she _tried _to forget about the glue in the bottom.

The speckle-faced girl sinced as the evil siren siced through the air, the staleness perforating immediately. She peered into the rearview mirror, swearing as the cop pulled into her view.

She bashed her head against the steering wheel.

Then she quickly straightened to see if possibly she could outrace the policeman, which was a notion immediately struck down by the proximity of the car.

Crap.

OoOoOo

After the cop was done giving her the usual lecture, she thanked him, revved her engines, and was halfway to the beach when she was pulled over once again, and given an additional ticket for flipping off and cussing out the offending cop.

But she got there in time, as she was a seasoned speeder.

Snatching her briefcase, she bolted down the decaying dock, flying over the missing patches of soggy, bloated wood. The wind whistled along the sand behind her, seedy grass swaying in the breeze. At the end of the port was a black-suited man with sleek black sunglasses, face weathered and hands stoically clasped in front.

"Miss Vale," the man nodded, a noncommital greeting. "I'm Agent Coulson."

"Just Cambria's good, Coulson. Hey, you have a first name?"" she nodded back, the grin radiant among smilk-smooth skin, fiery freckles sprayed across the ski-jump nose.

The man, Coulson, turned and stepped onto the gleaming yacht, Cambria following gamely. "Yes, but I'd prefer to be called 'Agent' or 'Coulson' or a combination thereof."

"Really. Your name's not 'Agent'?"

He turned to her. "Despite what a lot of people seem to think, I do _not _find that funny." He paused, colelcting himself. "I'd like to review the Avengers team members with you down below, if you'd follow me."

She did, and trotted down the steps. The boat was large and impossibly well-kept, with the captain's room perched atop the large, glass-walled space they were entering below.

The room was large, with a solitary round table in the middle, a thick stack of files by the chair opposite the other.

"Please, sit down." Coulson gestured toward the other chair as he bent to rest in the chair.

"Thank you, Mr. Agent. I will."

He picked up the first manilla folder, fat with innnumerable papers, and stared at it lovingly before eyes flicking up to Cambria's. "This is Steve Rogers' file- you _are _a psychologist?"

"Yep. Have my own practice. Got a PhD. Why?"

He emitted a mirthless, braying chuckle. "The team will be quite a case study. I'll give you each of the six files, but I'll just start with a general overview.

"Steve Rogers," Coulson sighed and Cambria watched, concerned, a rather stalkerish gleam enter his eye, "is the famous Captain America. His plane crashed into ice in the fourties and he woke up very recently. Rather a man out of his time, but still the greatest hero of them all."

"Opinion," Cambria interjected.

Coulson slowly looked up to her. "Well, it's widely considered that's he _is _the best superhero, as he's the first one to be just that."

"Well, maybe I think Iron Man is cooler."

Coulson stared at her savagely before shaking his head and sliding the file across the table to her. "Well, then here are Tony Stark's papers. If you know so much about him, then I don't need to _tell_ you about him. Now, this is Thor, the Norse god of thunder- his brother Loki almost took over the world. Thor is also a fish out of water and will need assistance adjusting."

"Yeah, I think I remember when Manhattan almost got exploded. Schawarma was closed down for a while. That sucked." Cambria recalled.

"And, last of all, Bruce Banner. We initially recruited him for his extensive knowledge of gamma radiation, but his alter ego, the Hulk, is quite helpful in combat. This is a picture of the beast during the Loki-Avenger faceoff last month." The portfolio skidded across the smooth black table.

Cambria grabbed the photo, examining it. Powerful muscles flexed along the broad emerald back, and the shock of black curls was evident over the simple, brutish face. His mouth was opened in a savage roar, brows drawn down, eyes small and wild. The huge bulk of the swinging arms were pulled back, back arched, as if it were challenging the sky.

"This, children, is why we don't take steroids." She murmured under her breath.

"We'd like you to focus on analyzing and covertly counseling Dr. Banner. He now can morph into the Hulk at will, but is still susceptible to unexpected outbreaks when angered or even threatened. Get to know him well."

"Do I have do call him 'Doctor'?"

He frowned. "I guess not."

"Not 'Banner' either, right?"

"... I'm not sure what he would prefer."

"What's his first name?"

"I believe it's Bruce."

"Can I call him that?"

"I honestly don't know."

"Then I'll call him that until he tries to beat me up," she grinned lopsidedly at the straight-faced and furrow-browed man, leaning forward to punch him on the shoulder. "I'm joking," she clarified with a disbelieving smile.

He nodded. "I see. If you'll excuse me..." And he stood, smoothed his flawless suit of responsibilty, and strode into the men's bathroom.

OoOo

"Director Fury."

"Coulson. What do you need?"

"Well, sir, I woud like to know your reasoning behind hiring Vale."

The bass voice on the other line paused. "Have you met her?"

"Yes. That's why I'm doubting-"

"Are you questioning my judgement, Agent?"

"No, sir, it's just that she's-"

"What? _Strange? _Yes, Agent, I _know _that. Have you met any of our very own Avengers? Do you know what _they _are? _Strange. _A person similar to them will understand and fit in with them quicker. Can you imagine Stark with a therapist? A regular shrink off the street?"

Agent Coulson was silent for a beat, imagining the terrifying scene with a shudder. "I understand, Director."

"Take a look in Vale's file. Is that all?"

"Yes."

"And Agent?"

"Yes?"

"Don't doubt me again."

"Yessir."

The line went flat.

OoOo

As soon as that boring agent left to either piss or talk about her behind her back, Cambria stood up, inspecting the room. In the center was the large, round black table they were seated at, a vase of luscious and heavily perfumed daisies.

She leaned forward, inspecting the petals. She knew shit about flowers and cared equally as much, but her dad had long ago constructed a list of most commonly-bugged areas, and flowers were among them.

She knew she probably couldn't find one and she didn't, so she moved on to the rest of the room. The wallpaper was plain and beige, the occasional painting nailed wholly to the wall; seasoned-looking men with impressive facial hair and navy-clad chests pinned with gleaming metal.

Cambria then left the room, jauntily humming a tune from Billy Joel as she leaned over the railing. The water was an iridescent, deep cerulean, the tone only lightened by the airy blueness of the sky hanging freely overhead. There weren't many clouds to account for blocking the sun, and the burning ball gleefully targeted her clear white skin, a blush rising to the surface.

The water churned fitfully, upchucking the frothy contents of the deeps in the form of the bubbly wake. She watched the process with removed interest until she turned up to make eye contact with the captain, who hurriedly looked away. Cambria took this as a cue for her to introduce herself, sprinting across the desk and bolting up the stairs.

She knocked politely on the man's glass door, and he quickly reached back to shove it open. "D'you need anything, ma'am?"

"My name is Cambria, not 'ma'am'."

"D'you need anything? Because I really need to concentrate."

"Okay then. Yes, I do need something. I need to know what time we're going to be getting there."

"Getting where?"

"Wherever we're going, Ralph." Her round eyes snagged on his nametag.

"Where the Helicarrier is going to pick us up? About ten minutes."

"Sounds good, Ralphie. Nice meeting you." And she closed the door just as Agent Coulson began to mount the steps.

"Miss Vale. We still have to discuss the Avengers. I'd prefer if you not wander off mid-meeting."

To his infinite and eternal suprise, Cambria Vale had a face and voice she could flip on and off like a lightbulb; her face would lose it's humorous and likeable innocence. The wide eyes would narrow, playfully arched brows lowering, jaw clenching. Her voice would harden to an efficient and cold businesswoman. "I don't think, Agent Coulson, that reviewing the case is doing either of us any good in the slightest sense. I will meet these people on my own and as one being to another. Now, if you would like to continue briefing me about these people as showcased freaks and trophies you will find yourself pitched over the side of this boat because we are approximately the same height but I actually work out and could beat the living shit out of you. Sound good, Agent?"

He was taken aback, but only for a split moment- he did work with knives like Stark, after all. "I take that as a threat, Dr. Vale, and if you continue to threaten, I'm permitted to tie you to a chair in the meeting room."

"Really. Tie me to a chair."

"Really."

And with that, Agent Coulson was swiftly tackled and heaved into the water.

**Yes, Agent Coulson is alive- I brought him back to life.**

**But, asides from that one little detail, what do you think? I know it's a little rough right now, but it'll get better. Trust me.**

** Yes, I _planning _on a romance for Cambria; you guys take a guess. Who do you think it is? Who do you want it to be?**

** *SPECIAL THREE-POINT QUESTION* Who is your guys' favorite Avenger and why?  
**

**Review with opinions and thoughts!  
**

**See you tomorrow/the day after!**


	2. Chapter 2

When Cambria Vale met Nick Fury, her hands were cuffed with plastic tabs.

After sending him hurtling overboard, she had quickly helped Coulson out of the water, and, just as she was cracking a joke about his expensive suit, a pair of clear handcuffs were whipped out and locked around her wrists.

Really, she blamed him. A lot. She sort of had an urge to attack him and rip off his head.

When the Helicarrier touched down a while's away from them, their small sailboat blew right on over, and Coulson and Cambria boarded.

She looked around, content with the colossal structure. It took a lot to impress her, but the ship was almost there. The meters of tarmac? The fleets of fighter planes parked all around?

Pretty damn cool.

A curvaceous figure, with equally-noticeable fiery shoulder-length hair, was waiting there for the dynamic duo. Her stance was wide and possessively confident, hands on gently sloping hips. Her chin was cocked in a scrutinizing fashion, lips plump and pink and bowed, eyes large and intelligent.

"Natasha Romanoff. You Vale?" Her voice was gruff and low for a woman, especially for one with an obvious abundance of estrogen.

"Nope. I'm_ Cambria _Vale." The redhead's aggressive self-assuredness was met with Cambria's off-kilter, disarming grin as she extended a hand.

After a moment's study of the bound hand she shook it, grip tight and unrelenting.

"Coulson." The two exchanged terse nods.

"I'll show you inside. We'll be taking off in a few seconds, so you might want to get low." Romanoff advised curtly, setting off with a determined gait towards the sprawling central compound.

Cambria followed, glancing toward Coulson as he hurried off in the opposite direction. She courteously raised her tall finger at him, eyes narrowed viciously and lip bitten vehemously. Coulson ignored the friendly gesture.

Romanoff turned around to witness the absurd spectacle, hazel eyes glinting with disbelief. "What are you here for, Vale?"

"_Cambria_, not Vale. What's with you guys and last names?" She shook her head, eyes wide. "I'm here to work my shrink magic on you guys, except I'm pretty sure I'm not supposed to tell you that." Her breath hitched in her throat and she had to cough to clear it as they gained altitude. She turned around to glance behind as the jagged platform rose from under the water, revealing huge sets of propellers on each corner. They were churning, buffeting her body with each increasingly-fast revolution.

"Holy shit," she muttered before turning to Natasha. "This is fucking amazing. So, what, this your headquarters?"

A strange half-smile on her face, the redhead studied her. "Yes," she answered. "It is."

Cambria blinked. "What, there something on my face? Fungus in my teeth? Or are you just ensnared by my beauty?"

The smile disappeared, replaced by a dead, void expression. "Follow me. I'll introduce you to Fury and the rest."

"You wouldn't mind to get these cuffs off, would you?"

"I would."

"Well, shit."

OoOoOo

Cambria was intrigued by Natasha Romanoff. She had obviously found her funny before swiftly detaching herself from the possible relationship, and whenever they passed someone in the hall, no greeting was exchanged. The other person stared straight ahead, avoiding Natasha's eyes. When Cambria waved excitedly to them, however, they quickly stared at her in confusion.

She was led through the bowels of the ship to a pair of large doors which Natasha gamely shoved open, strutting confidently inside.

Cambria followed, studying the rows of computers, each one with a human behind it. Their faces were aglow from the warm light of the technology, and they called out reports and statistics to one another. A slim, short-haired woman was standing with crossed arms, listening to the scores of tecchies exchange tecchie lingo.

Vale immediately greeted her. "Hi. How is your boyfriend?"

The woman possessed of two intelligent sapphire eyes, now narrowed. "I don't know what you're-"

"I'm Cambria."

A realization seemed to dawn upon the woman and she nodded knowingly. "Vale? I've heard about you. I'm Agent Hill."

"It's not Vale. It's _Cambria. _You can handle three syllables, right? _Cam - bree - uh._ Not too hard, eh, Agent?"

"You're the Avengers' new psychologist."

"Yes, but-" Cambria leaned in close, much closer than Hill would've liked, "-we're keeping that all very hush-hush, might not want to talk too loud. Hear there's some extraordinary people on this boat or plane or whatever, hmm?" She winked.

And with the disgusted look Hill gave her, Cambria scrawled in her mind: _Agent Hill: large preference of personal space - Romanoff too - cool-headed, complete sentences, stance authoritative and threatening. Not neutral in least. Voice used to addressing large audiences. Possible eldest to only child, at most three children in family. Came into S.H.I.E.L.D. on her own; badges point to her starting at low position and climbing up, no nepotism. Impassive parents, deduced by natural monotony of voice. Little to no inflection, straight to the point. Stable and obviously without love life. Verdict: a dedicated and born workaholic._

"Miss Vale," called a combative man's voice. "Now nice to see you again."

Cambria turned as a black guy, imposing and dark in the swirling black leather, swaggered down the steps to greet her. Once again, she offered the tied hand, straining from the wrist up. "Nice eyepatch, Captain Blackie."

His left brow quirked ever-so-slightly. "I'd like to remind you, Miss Vale, that this is your first day on the job and you've already insulted two of your superiors- yes, I've heard about the Coulson incident."

"Cool. Think I could go three for three and go tell Agent Hill over there she's never going to get married? I don't want her to feel left out."

Cambria knew she was equally interesting - psychologically speaking - as the most twisted sociopath, verbally and physically impulsive. But she let herself go, employing it as a weapon to test the waters and see how far she could go with different people.

If she went too far, usually she could quickly perform an clean-up the offensive mess.

Usually.

The other times her butt is fired so quick she's out on the street with a smoldering ass before she knows what's going on.

His face was akin to an Easter Island head; stony and unimpressed. "Do you want the position or not?"

"Yep. I'll take it."

"Then shut up and listen to what we have to say."

"Got it." Then: "I'm listening."

"Good." His voice rose and fell in stentorian whorls. "As I hope you know, last month we were attacked. By aliens caused Chitauri led by Loki Laufeysson."

"Yep," Cambria stretched out pale arms, as if to subliminally showcase the tiny muscles, "I was there. Killing the Chitauri."

"I don't think so."

"You're right. Keep going."

"We haven't had any more need for the Avengers since then, as Loki is now incarcerated in Asgard. However, we still want them assembled in case anything else... crops up." He seemed to be analyzing the twenty-something-year-old's face, from the rebelliously inflated, cotton-candy like hair to deceptively blue eyes with scrutinizing detail. "You have the files. You know them. You'll find them around and get to know them more. Be their friend- their semi-regular friend. See what's going on. Counsel them. Report back to me." His proud, looping voice had narrowed just to the level of her ears.

"Just one thing."

"What?"

"Do I have to be their _semi_-regular friend?" Her unusual voice was also lowered in a mockingly-secretive whisper.

He stared at her, brows lowered thunderously. "Go. Introduce yourself."

"Sounds good, Director Captain Nick." She turned, considering the man's words, carefully filing them away into the recesses of her brain before heaving open the door and bouncing off.

Fury immediately turned around. "I want a lockdown on all the exterior exits. Monitor all foriegn cellphone usage on the ship- make sure she's doesn't have one and isn't contacting anyone. Moore, DeJonge- I want another background check on Cambria Joan Vale."

OoOoOo

Cambria wandered the ship or whatever the fuck it was._ A submaplane? Boatacopter? Bunch-of-random-shit-scientists-glued-together?_

Apparently, there had never been a person before on the Helicarrier with white hair. She walked in and it was like _holy shit _she was the Holy One, with scores of eyes glued to her strangely Afro-textured, pigment-lacking hair. It naturally stuck up into poofy whirls, and she honestly didn't give a shit and just let all five inches of it do whatever it wanted to.

She glanced down at the map which had been shoved into her hands. A friendly random who had passed her in the hall had starred the places where the six were most likely to be; _Gym (Rogers, Barton, Romanoff), Lab (Stark, Banner, Thor), "Hangout" Room 553 (Thor, Stark, Barton) Respective rooms (Romanoff, Banner), Wandering (Thor)._

She'd start with Steve Rogers.

Eyes set on the intricately-laced series of crossroads printed on the map, after several incidents involving her forehead and the inconvenient wall, she was bursting into the plain black doors blatantly and boringly labeled _WEIGHT ROOM._

She'd dropped the stack of files outside, but she had a feeling this was Rogers. He was mid-bench-press, face shining with a thin sheen of cultivated sweat. Once he spotted her, he racked the metal bar, painfully bent with two huge rows of tire-sized metal weights stuck on either size.

He made a polite point of looking only at her face and not what the skintight suit amplified - her ass. His jaw was strong, hair a dark blonde with a pin-straight part and a colic on the left side which sent his bangs whooshing into the air. The eyes were light and round, brows above them thick and lowered as he caught his breath.

"Having fun?" She asked, approaching the man.

He heaved himself up. "Yes I am." For once, the hand was out before Cambria managed to extend hers. "Do you work for S.H.I.E.L.D.?" His tone had taken on a weary, _not-this-again _tone.

"Sort of. My name is Cambria. You Steve?" She shook his muscular hand heartily, taking note of the lack of callouses. A side effect of that steroid-serum?

"Captain Steve Rogers. Do you need anything, ma'am?" His pattern was routinely polite but tightened and strict.

"Uh, yes. Your driver's license, please?"

He stared at her, utterly incomprehensive.

"That was a joke."

He lifted a foot, shifting his weight and glancing to the door uncomfortably. "Um..."

"Whatever. This is very awkward. So how was being frozen in the ice for seventy years?"

"I'm not exactly sure, ma'am. All I can say is that..." he looked around and sighed. "... I'm adjusting."

"Yeah. That must suck. What's changed in the last almost-century?"

His face refused to crack into even the slightest smirk. Instead, his green-gray eyes bored into hers and the mouth moved only for words. "Morals, technology, people. A lot." He frowned. "So what are you here for?"

"Just got hired into S.H.I.E.L.D. I'm supposed to meet you guys." A vague answer not befitting the title of a lie. "Oh, look. I've been here for two minutes. Should get going. Tight schedule, you know." And she beelined for the door after a tight good-bye.

OoOoOo

She was walking down the hall when a ridiculously attractive man in a ridiculously expensive-looking suit of armor swaggered past her.

"Hi," she said.

"Greetings," he said.

_My god. His voice is like a sexy foghorn. _

Smiling to herself, she continued down the hall with a jaunty spring in her step, after while glanced down at the file down in her hands, turned and ran after him. "Shit! Shit! Wait! You're Thor!"

He paused in his step, turning towards her. "Yes, maiden?"

She came to a stop, catching her breath. "Hi. I'm Cambria, the new..." _what do I say? _"studier."

He frowned. "Studier?"

He was the hottest man she had ever had the pleasure of checking out. "Uh, yeah. I'm studying you guys."

Thor, with his twinkly blue eyes and glorious golden mane of hotness, shrugged. "That is... good. My name is Thor Odinsson. I believe you - grasp my hand?"

"You nailed it," She grinned, clasping the hand with as much charisma she could muster.

He smiled - _holy shit he's a fucking Greek god. _"You people are so _tiny, _I cannot comprehend it."

She kept the grin. "Yeah, well, that's us humans."

After a second of silence, he started, "Perhaps you have before met Darcy-"

Her cellphone rang.

_SHIT!_

After flashing him a smile and a patient _wait-a-second_ finger, she reached down, dragged her finger across the screen and pressed it up against her ear. "Hello?"

"Vale. Report to the deck."

"You mean that room we were in before?"

"Yes. Hurry." _Click._

She turned back to her future husband, only to find him gone.

Apparently he doesn't know what the wait-a-second finger means.

OoOoOo

"No foreign cellphone usage onboard the Helicarrier," Nick Fury reprimanded.

"I didn't use it."

"You would have."

"What, you read the future or something?" Regardless, she tossed him the phone. "And, so, what exactly am I supposed to tell them when they ask why the fuck I'm introducing myself?"

"Tell them you're the new project manager."

"You don't exactly want to be friends with your superiors."

His lone eye stared at her with criticizing hostility. "Make it work, Vale."

_Whatever, Patchass. _"Oh, Mr. Captain Director Sir, I will." And she left again, Maria Hill studying her with a gleam in her bright eyes.

With half of the six already met, she decided to mix it up a bit and try the Training Room. It was entirely empty, with an adjoining door securely shut with a scrawled paper sign warning, _QUIET! BARTON IS CATCHING UP ON SOME FUCKING SLEEP FOR ONCE!_

Well then.

She wandered down the hall, locating the lab and opening the door tiredly. She was now sure of Fury's idiocy and resented him for sending her on this strange, awkward and retarded mission to introduce herself to her patients.

"Shit," She marveled aloud upon her entrance into the lab.

It was a reasonable small room - stuffed beyond reason, though, with fold-out touchscreen high-tech computers, microscopes, a few thin stacks of paper, some Stephen Hawking novels and _a boatload of technology._

She was so in awe of the stuff she didn't acknowledge or even notice the two dark-haired men in the room.

"Oh," came a rich, dry voice, "come on. Another stripper in a black suit. Uh, miss? Really, I'd prefer more spangles and bangles and less... leather corset. Got that? Thanks."

Instantly sensing a mind as quick and offensive as her own, Cambria whipped to meet his eyes. "Really, I'd prefer less jackass and even less of your face."

"_Really? _'Your face' jokes? What are we, middle-schoolers?"

"Seems about your level."

"Oh, an IQ of 195.6? I find myself doubting that. Very much."

"You know what I doubt?"

"Pray tell. I'm dying here."

"Your quantum alcubierre-tychionic theory."

"Touche." The man, a brown goatee framing the mischievous mouth, turned to the curly-haired one next to him. "I approve of this woman."

The curly-haired one, grizzled grey patches adorning his temples, quickly fumbled the glasses from his face and walked over to shake her hand. "I'm, uh, sorry about that," he said in a quiet rasp. "My name's Bruce Banner."

_Doesn't introduce himself as "Dr. Banner"; first-name basis; humble, friendly, not flaunting. Hunched shoulders, pocketed hands, placating and uncombative stance. _"Hi. I'm Cambria. I'm guessing you're the coveted Tony Stark?" She turned to the one with whom she'd just had a verbal bout.

Looking up from his work, his brows were lifted from the sharp golden-brown eyes as he leaned against the counter. "Ah, no. I prefer 'the one and only'."

"Got it. I'll make sure to forget that as soon as possible." She turned to Bruce. "And I would make a joke about you Hulking out but my mother told me not to. So I won't."

He blinked, looking to his scuffed shoes with a world-weary sigh, looking back up with a slight open-mouthed smile. "I'm glad you're being a semi-obedient child then."

"Thank you. I am too."

Still focused on his work, Tony called out, "Really, Banner, you need to stop wearing those purple shirts. You're just _dying _for a Hulk reference."

Bruce replied with cool ease. "Don't worry, I'll make sure to wear green tomorrow."

And suddenly Tony Stark was away from his work, eyes of molten gold boring with ungageable intensity into Cambria's. "So what's she doing here?"

"Ah..." Bruce turned unconfrontationally to her.

"Just checking out the Avengers. Not literally, though. The only person would I would _actually_ check out is Thor."

"Really? Captain Asshat _does _have some pretty nice abs."

"Thor has better hair."

"You got me there." Tony tilted his hair, regressing with a bitten cheek. His eyes narrowed in thought, thinking of a quick retort. "Barton has some good muscles too. Well, maybe. What would you say, Banner?"

Bruce backed away with an amused snort to the counter. "Uh, I usually don't spend my time considering men's muscles, so I'll have to think on that one."

"Do." Then Tony turned back to me. "So you dodged my question. What are you doing here?"

"I'm supposed to be, um, how was it put on the paper, _familiarizing myself with the team. _Project Manager, I think."

"I don't do well with supervisors," Tony warned.

"Cool. Neither do I, so I guess we'll both light Fury's ass on fire."

"I think I'd have to go through the chain of command, actually. So that means I'd start with _you_, my towering-haired acquaintance." He gestured to her hair.

"Thanks. I'll make sure to pass it on to him."

"I'm forever indebted."

"You are."

There was a moment of silence as they caught our breath. "What's your surname? Or are you just _Cambria_?"

"Vale."

"Cambria Vale?" They both looked to Bruce, who was seated on a stool, looking up with dark eyes from his computer. "Oh, I, um, read one of your articles in _Time. _It was good."

"I try."

"It worked out well."

"Thanks." She glanced at the computer next to her. "And how the _fuck _can you work all this tech?"

**Wow... writing that rapport between Tony and Cambria was exhilarating. How'd it end up? Make sure to tell me if anyone's out of character.**

**So, yes. Long chapter. Stayed up 'til 10 PM writing it and it was very fun.**

**Thanks for the massive amount of reviews! I was seriously overwhelmed!**

**And, yeah, I know, I hate doing it too, but... Please review!**

**Until Thursday!**

**Bethy**


	3. Chapter 3

**Holy crap, guys! ****43 reviews ****for two chapters... all I can say is that I love you **_**all**_** and thank you SO much for the feedback... and that also a lot of you are onto my evil plan. :O**

**I'll do the Author's Note up here, as the end of the chapter is rather somber in tone and I'd rather not break it up with one of these, so I'll just ask you now: PLEASE review. It gives me motivation, and, well, at the end of the chapter- I think you'll have a lot to talk about.**

"Why? Because we're having renovations done on the 'Carrier, and, as an official consultant, you're obliged to meet our expectations."

"Uh, as I recall, I'm not obliged to do _anything. _My involvement in your fun little gig is purely out of heroic kindness." Tony sipped daintily at his scotch, brows raised sharply at the man standing before him.

Behind the flat, bored expression, Fury had a pressure of steady anger building. "Mr. Stark, do you or do you not agree to house the Avengers for the next month?"

Tony smoothly pushed himself from the chair, leaving the short, squat cup on the table, the ice cubes inside gently chiming against the glass. "Have them come tomorrow. No later than five. If you miss the time frame you'll have to wait two weeks for the _next _Thursday at five o'clock. Consulting hours, you know," he called from down the hall. "Can't be overworked."

Fury pressed together his teeth, a burning sensation smoldering in his stomach; these Avengers. These Avengers were the most _fucked-up _bunch of idiots he'd ever met, with Tony Stark at the head of the moronic motherfucking idiocy.

Nevertheless, he turned to the slim and passive Hill, standing coolly by her boss, slender arms locked over her chest. "Make sure they're out by tonight. Tell Vale she's going, too."

As Hill left to do his bidding, striding with determined feet, Fury turned to survey the legion of programmers studded below him, the workers practically screwed to their seats and glued to the screens.

Vale had stayed in her pajamas until twelve o'clock that day, walking in an hour previous sporting a pair of inch-long boxers and a skintight tank-top. He quickly had administered the smackdown necessary and sent her out in steaming repudiation; she had too much spunk for his liking. Fury was considering sending out another search query for a replacement psychologist.

But he'd wait.

He'd wait and see.

OoOoOo

Tony had a mug of smoking coffee in his grip as he pushed open the door of the lab, attention directed at the gadget in his opposite hand. He carelessly slid the coffee onto the counter.

"So what's with that look you were giving her?" He asked in his snappy, matter-of-fact manner, turning to fix Bruce with a searchlight-like, intense look.

Bruce looked up from his thick laptop, the one Tony had not yet convinced him to give up. "Giving... who?"

"The new girl. You know, the one with the astoundingly callipygous-"

The gamma researcher hurried to interrupt the description. "Yeah, yeah, I know who you're talking about. What's her name? Cambria?"

Tony tapped on the 3-D monitor. "You're avoiding my question, Doctor."

"There wasn't much of one to start with."

"Uh, _yes_, there was; a noun, pronoun, adjective, disjunct... Got it all there. A perfectly valid query."

Bruce was opening his mouth to answer when the very girl walked into the room, dressed not in the prescribed uniform but in skinny jeans and a lacey white blouse under a black vest, a silvery headband adorning her brushed-and-straightened hair, which now reached just to her ears. Her face was obviously void of makeup.

The curly-haired scientist quickly busied himself in his computer while Tony hid a smarmy smirk behind the coffee mug. "Miss Vale," he said. "What a surprise. Not necessarily a pleasant one, but, well, not everybody can win a Nobel prize."

"Not everybody can be a complete asshole, Tony. Hi, Bruce. Is it okay if I call you guys by your first names? I didn't realize how weird it would be." She familiarized herself with the laboratory again, standing on tiptoe to shove herself up onto the metal stool by the counter, planting her palms on the surface and jumping on.

"You can just call me _The One Too Worthy of Name_," Stark suggested in his dry voice.

"First name is fine," Bruce said.

"Tony- suck it. Bruce- good." Then her broad face, with the broad, intelligent forehead and pointed chin, frowned. "So where the hell _is _everybody?"

"Getting packed," Tony explained, terse. "Sleepover at my place. And, hey. I will _not _suck it. I find that extremely offensive and will report you to the Captain of America immediately."

"Right. I'll remember that to offend you next time." She yawned, blinking hard before reaching up to massage her eyes. "Do you have any _fucking _idea how _fucking _hard it is just to get some _fucking _sleep in this _fucking _hellhole? I mean, Hammertime sounds like a fucking chainsaw in concrete, and Bruce, sorry, you're just as bad... and Tony?" She focused a menacing glare at the man. "Black Sabbath at two in the morning? _R_e_ally?_"

He tipped his head, sipping his coffee. "Genius, right?"

"So genius I think I'll rip your fucking brains out next time."

Bruce let out a single laugh, a slight smile breaking out. "I think I might help you on that one."

"Thank you. You'll work on the right, me on the left."

"That's exactly what I was thinking," he said in response, diffident chocolate eyes gleaming.

There was a pause before she asked suddenly, "What're you guys working on?" She moved to look over Stark's shoulder. "Math. Shit. Thought I got done with that in highschool."

"Ah, highschool," Tony ruminated. "Where creativity goes to die. Speaking of that, how long has it been since you got out? Can't be over, what, thirty?"

"I'm closer to eighty years old, really. You know, since I'm hanging with you rad Avenger dudes, I need a hip origin story that involves weird quantum time displacement and jazz."

"Looks like you already got the 'hips' part."

"I'd say more of the ass."

"I digress."

"Exactly."

Bruce Banner looked between the two of them. "Are you sure you haven't met before?"

He might have been just s_lightly _envious of the instant bond between the two. He'd never immediately had a connection with anybody, not even with Betty; with him, relationships were hard and tedious and long, the first few years spent at arms-length. He could end up killing any of his "friends" so didn't try to make any. Every once in a decade, though, he vaguely regretted his tired, introverted shyness. Like now.

It was unfair. He had just began to settle into a comfortable pattern with the Avengers, growing used to the quirks and patterns of the others, recognizing the fellow loners. There was a tight, family-like cohesiveness starting to build between the six heroes.

But then the girl came along, throwing everything into an abyss of outgoing, clever words. Like Tony, but with a pretty face and thicker hair.

Why did this happen? Was his life just getting _too_ easy? Did the guy upstairs really try _that _hard to make his life a hounding, relentless hell?

Of _course_ something bad had to happen, made worse by actually liking her as a person! He wanted to _talk_ to her, which made everything so much _worse_!

He'd had it all down, but she ruined everything. _Everything._

It made him want to scream. To rage, to bite, to snarl, to scratch, to howl. To _break _things. To be _destructive._

He looked up from his computer, eyes flat but mind boiling with jealousy. Tony Stark was the successful version of what he could be. If his own experiments had succeeded, that would be him- snarking and laughing with the pretty, funny, snarking, laughing girl. Tony was handsome. Tony was smart. Tony wore suits.

Tony. Tony. _Tony_.

Hell, his _one _decent outfit was borrowed from Tony!

He sighed deeply through his nose, plugging the rest of the data into the table before looking up to study the two.

Cambria had an elegant face, he guessed, a little goofy, with the cartoonish ski-jump nose and mischievous gold-hued eyes. Glowing, milk-like smooth skin and a smooth, curving body, going with a gentle slope from the tiny, looping waist to the larger hill of the hip, a delicate, majestic curve leading to the intricate thighs, so-

He stopped himself.

_What am I thinking?_

Tony had caught on, too, discreetly observing the scene with clever eyes. Once Bruce unwillingly met his stare, the playboy-cum-billionaire raised his eyebrows suggestively. Had he really been that obvious?

Cambria was studying the charts, oblivious. "Yeah," she finally said, turning to them, "I failed math. Literally. I failed it. I could've gotten out of highschool at fourteen if my Algebra wasn't somewhere in the 20-percents."

"Wow," Tony said. "That heightens my opinion of you."

The girl stiffened. "Really. How about the fact that I published a book at thirteen? How about that book was on the new York Times Bestselling list? Or that I'm often compared to F. Scott Fitzgerald? Does _that _impress you, Mr. Fucking Genius?"

Bruce glanced coyly at him. "She's sort of got you there, Tony."

"Nobody's got me anywhere, especially _there, _Dr. Banner."

OoOoOo

Cambria glanced covertly at Bruce from behind the translucent screen.

He had a short, squat build, stocky with knots of dark hair tumbling over the wry brown eyes. He certainly _looked _like a genius, with the nerdy, wire-rimmed glasses.

But she didn't find him attractive. _Hell, _no. _Nobody _was attractive after spending an hour talking and eating Pop-tarts with Thor, the Norse-British god of Biceps, Pecs, and Overall Sexiness. His hair was like the Golden Fleece maximized by ten. His eyes were fucking sapphires inserted into a perfectly molded skull.

But Banner was interesting. He walked with splayed feet, toes pointing outward; this suggested a relatively inactive lifestyle with little trained running, especially in his youth. Or perhaps an injury caused the unique walking style. And the premature grey hairs blending at his temples pointed to a boatload of stress. Being hunted for half of your adult life could do that to someone.

He was frank, yet quiet, yet humorous, which served to only confuse the psychologist to no end. Most of the time, humor was to suppress or cover up feelings - a defense mechanism, like Tony's- but then Banner came out with the occasional brief, laconic term just to clear things up. And _then _the times he actually spoke were far and few between, but she wasn't sure if he considered the situation and the people most of the time, or if he was off in genius-science-Hulk-land.

It was nibbling away at her.

No, actually, it was taking _huge chomps out of her intestine._

So she decided to just ask.

"What's with the silver hair?" She asked, blunt and innocent. "Shit, you better not be over sixty years old. I'm disturbed enough from Thor and Cappy. Basically fucking pedophiles."

He looked up, a light mockery bouncing among his features. He fingered the grey hair absently. "Oh, I don't know. It's probably from the seven years Ross tried to hunt me down and gut me."

Cambria shrugged. "Probably not, though. Burn any cookies lately?"

He nodded. "You're probably right. It all came from when I burned the cookies yesterday."

"Exactly what I thought." She held out a strong, pale hand, examining his dark one.

He completed the high-five, smiling slightly. "Exactly."

OoOoOo

The jet was nearly silent, decorated in lavish cream and professional tan, the eight seats all but occupied with the superhumans.

Tony was in his element, explaining his genius in terms of the jets' amazing stealth and revolutionary motor system, making a point of the bullet-proof windows and private miniature fridges built in, stocked with every type of alcohol imaginable.

Pepper Potts sat in the seat opposite him, clad in a neat and simple charcoal-toned, boat-necked dress, gingery hair drawn into the low, efficient bun. Her face was freckled and serious, only a twinkle of humor in blue eyes betraying why this is Tony Stark's girlfriend.

Well, the legs might explain it, too.

Behind her was Bruce Banner, gazing, captivated, out the window, Cambria Vale across from him, conversing with Thor behind her.

"You have not made contact with Darcy Lewis?" Thor rumbled, incredulous.

"Nope."

"I find that very surprising, my female friend. I think you would enjoy her very much. Upon my meeting with Jane, I shall introduce you two immediately."

"Sounds good, man."

"I do hope so, woman. If you do not consider my asking rude, are you currently engaged in a romantic exploit?"

"Hell no!" Bruce might have considered her voice a bit borderline hysterical, but he wasn't sure.

"I find that good news. I know of someone you would find highly valuable, a fellow Asgardian of mine, Fandral the Dashing. He is quite handsome and valiant, a worthy husband, and is perpetually unmarried. You two shall wed at once."

"Think I'll pass. Maybe Pepper'll take him, though. What do you think, Pepper?" Cambria called up to the mature woman with a roguish expression on her joyful face.

Pepper looked back. "I'm- good, thank you."

"Bruce?" Cambria turned to him, full lips bowed with a smile.

He shrugged, deadpan. "Sure. Alien romance. Why not?"

She returned her gaze to Thor. "Bruce'll take him."

He stared at her. "I... do not find that a very good fit."

Steve, listening from the back, was listening from the back with thinly-veiled disdain; in his time, these things weren't such joking matters.

Romanoff sat behind him, with Clint perched on his seat, arrows lying on his lap. The two spies were listening to every word, watching every movement.

Finally, when Cambria fell into a lapse of silence and the nothingness collapsed like a ceiling into the jet, Tony hacked into his own system and blared _Crazy Train _over the speakers.

OoOoOo

Tony's Malibu home turned out to be built right onto a cliff, inside and out a modernistic, avant garde example of excessive wads of cash to throw into furniture and windows and pillars.

By the time they arrived, though, it was one in the morning and their eyes were blurry and glazed from lack of sleep. They stumbled into the soaring building, giving the place only a few squint-eyed glances around before being showed to their respective rooms and collapsing onto the beds with a sigh of relief.

OoOoOo

Bruce woke up in a cold sweat, bolting upright with the covers torn off, gazing wildly around the room.

Then the scream came again, only a wall away.

Heart pounding and wrist-watch shrieking in alarm, he leaped from the bed, ripping open the door and crashing into the room next to his, where the screams were coming from. He honestly didn't know whose bedroom it was; he was figuring Natasha's or Cambria's, due to the pitch of the scream, but really wasn't coherent enough to tell.

The figure on the bed was tossing and turning, pillow clutched in a crushing grip. The screams weren't going anymore, but whoever it was was still asleep, whimpering.

"Mitchell... where are you? Why are you so cold? So cold..." A brief silence, and then a ragged moan. "Can't?" A longer pause, some muttering. "Don't go... please don't go... she left too... please, I'm all alone." A hitched breath before a grief-tinged, tear-streaked shriek. "_Please!"_

The figure exploded upright, breathing frantic as her hands sought her face, cradling it and rocking back and forth in a childlike, empty way. Gentle sobbing was heavily audible in the silent, black room.

Bruce found himself feeling blindly over to the bedside, sitting down and gently pulling her into him, whispering, "Shh. It's okay, it's okay. Shh."

The girl clutched him close to her, fingers like ice on his bare-skinned back as she buried her face in his shoulder, tears coursing in rivulets down his chest. She was sobbing numbly and brokenly, holding onto him as if she were going to be torn away. Her arms were wrapped around his neck like a vice, nose hidden in the crook of his neck as she shuddered, speech in terrified fragments. "Don't leave again, Daddy. Please, don't leave me again." Her fingernails carved into his back as she held herself to him with a childlike craving for protection. She molded to fit to his body, like a small child.

He could feel the long lashes brushing against his skin as she shivered in his arms.

Suddenly overcome with customary awkwardness and hating himself for it, Bruce said, "I won't. I won't, don't worry, sweetheart. I'm here."

She whispered raggedly, "Thank you."

It was Cambria.


	4. Chapter 4

**Thanks again for all your amazing comments! It really encourages me to write...**

**Well, I had this chapter done a while ago, then my computer decided to go and basically have an internal 'splosion, which led to me with lost data and no computer. I then had to do jobs and stuff to scrounge up enough money for a new one. So, yeah- there's my personal sob-story.**

**Anyway, this chapter is basically fluff, but that's all to cushion you guys for the next chappy: 'cause it's gonna be intense! **

**PUBLIC ANNOUNCEMENT: I HAVE NEVER BEFORE MADE A BLACKBERRY TART SO LET'S ALL PRETEND LIKE CAMBRIA IS DOING IT RIGHT!**

**WARNING: SOME GRAPHIC CONTENT AT END OF CHAPTER (NON-SEXUAL)! BEWARE!**

OoOoOo

Natasha and Clint were sitting at the table.

Talking. In hushed and secretive voices, as it was five o'clock in the morning and they were the only ones awake and chewing thoughtfully on the eggs JARVIS had so kindly cooked for them.

"I wonder what her story is," Natasha ruminated on the sliver of eggwhite under her tongue, large eyes narrowed in thought.

"Has to be pretty interesting," Clint bet, downing his orange juice in a decisive gulp. "She screamed _twice _before waking up."

"Yeah," Natasha snorted. "I know. I heard."

"And you and I are the only ones who _did_."

"Well, besides Bruce," the ex-Russian added.

"Besides Bruce," Clint agreed.

Natasha hadn't gone to investigate the twin shrieks in the night; from the intensity and length she knew they were obviously from a recollective dream. As a result, she'd shrugged to herself and plunged back into her cat-like state of aware sleeping.

Clint, on the other hand, had the inbred curiosity to look around after the despairing, cutting wail sliced through the air. Ripping off a generous hunk of bread, he said around the mouthful, "Huh, yeah. The two were cuddling Papa Bear-and-Baby Bear-style. Pretty sweet to see." He thought about it for a second before smiling, snorting, and swallowing the huge bite.

Natasha stared at him, considering the man. "You're disgusting," she decided.

He chuckled again. "If you heard what they were saying-" he stopped mid-sentence, and Natasha knew why.

They all had dreams. Reminiscent dreams of bygone battles and past hurts; for Clint, it was the rasping sharpening of a blade waking him up in the middle of a night with a hand searching for a bow. Natasha often woke on the floor, gun in hand, the trainer's voice ringing, strident, through her skull; neither could listen to Chesnokov.

Once Bruce had described his own hellish nightmares to them; the staccato pulse of a gun shooting through his head during the night, during the shower, during a show. They sometimes found Captain America at three in the morning with a mug of coffee in one hand as he gazed wide-eyed out the window. Thor spoke constantly of Asgard and Jane Foster, and when they found his missing journal pages, their eyes couldn't help but snag on the haunting sentence _'... and the emerald eyes stare at me. I often attempt to convince him I still find him still my brother, only to be rebuffed with sharp and unkind words I care not repeat'._

But they were never comforted. They all trapped themselves in their minds, captives of their proud psyche, unwilling of help.

Clint couldn't mock the childish words which spilled from Cambria's mouth, nor the awkwardly comforting ones of Bruce, because it was all necessary.

"I wonder what her deal is," Clint repeated.

"She's never served in the military, I know that," Natasha replied with confidence. "Probably a childhood trauma or something."

"Rapist dad. Alcoholic mom. Suicidal brother, druggie sister." Clint released a mirthless bray. "There are some pretty happy combinations out there. Wonder which one."

"But S.H.I.E.L.D. would've caught the mental imbalance," Natasha countered.

Clint had his bacon in hand and was pointing at her with it as he gnawed on the other end. "Ledgers can be cleared, remember? Erased."

The femme-fatale remained unconvinced. "I doubt she's a seasoned computer hacker."

He bit his lip. "You got a point." Then he asked, a mischievous boyishness creeping into his expression, "Are they still... sleeping... together?"

Natasha's eyes widened before lowering to a crushing glare. "Don't you even _think _about that."

He raised his hands in defense, the repulsively ebullient smile still sneaking around his face. "Don't worry... I'll wait 'til ten."

OoOoOo

His eyes fluttered open, the lids dragging across the dry surface of pupil. Frowning, he reached up to massage moisture into his sore eyes, releasing a breath of tired air as he did so.

He slowly reached for his wire-framed glasses, tucking them onto his face and deliberately examining the room with a sleep-deprived, squint-eyed gaze. It took his mind just a moment to remember the odd yet tragic events of the night before.

Bruce sat up from his unsettled sprawl, tucked deep into the cushion of the chair. He had slept on his left side, and, as he ran his fingers wearily through his hair, he examined the forced colic with his adept but calloused fingers.

Cambria was but a bump under the thick, muffling, stark-white blanket, curled with her knees to her chest and chin completing the lock-in fetal position. She was rotated towards her, the heavy shock of white-blonde hair matted into a pacifistic, deflated whorl.

He sighed once more, squeezing the bridge of his nose with pained intensity, faintly shaking his head.

_Brian Banner released a guttural, primal roar, flipping over the coffee table, face set in a terrifying mask. The table smashed into the window, glass shattering all over-_

He turned his head sharply, blinking away the scene.

_- his mouth a yawning, ghoulish 'o'. Rebecca stepped forward to shield her child, only to be kicked in the gut by her husband and knocked to the ground._

His breathing increased and he leaned forward, face pained and hands over his ears, desperately trying to rid himself of the memory. _Hydrogen, Helium, Lithium, Beryllium..._

_Bruce screamed as the knife shallowly grazed his skin, piercing through the body of his mother, whose last movement in life had been to throw herself over her young child._

He stood up sharply, bolting into the bathroom. He stared piercingly at himself, quivering fingers wrapped around the edges of the sink.

His large eyes were frenetic and panicked, hair a beacon of wayward and lost emotions, wild and uncared-for. The weathered face bore one line each for Thunderbolt Ross; Betty; Blonsky; Rebecca; Natasha; Brian; Tony. And now a shadow was just starting to form for Cambria; he didn't even _know _her!

He glared down at the sink, chest slowing in its frantic heaves. He once again raised his sorrowful head to gaze blankly into the mirror.

After a few seconds of worried capturing of self-control, he shakily entered back into the bedroom, glancing once at the silent, fitful Cambria before before opening the door of the bedroom and stepping into the glow of Stark Industries, Malibu.

He'd been here before. _Three times _before, actually.

Pacing softly across the elegant, modern crib of Tony Stark, with the swooping, sleek pillars and walls made of windows, he climbed up the stairs to the kitchen.

Thor and Steve were there, side-by-side, Steve cradling a mug of coffee in his muscled hand, Thor shirtless and munching silently on a stack of Pop-tarts piled high on his square plate.

"Banner," Thor nodded. "I greet you."

"I... greet you too, Thor." Bruce said, voice husky in the crisp air of the morning.

Steve dipped his head in acknowledgement, a quick gesture Bruce mimicked in reply.

Just then Tony strode into the room, clad in an _Ozzy Osbourne _shirt and jeans. He picked up the cup of steaming caffeine, waiting for him on the counter. His nose disappeared behind the rim of the cup as he ventured a sip. "Everybody have a fun night? I sure did."

"You could call it that," Bruce muttered before starting to search the cupboard for cereal. His comment was recieved in silence.

Pepper swept into the room then, abuzz with news and deadlines. Tony pulled her in for a liplock, which both Steve and Bruce averted their eyes for. Thor watched with oblivious glee.

When Tony turned around, eyes shimmering, he said, "Wow. Should I take my shirt off, too?"

It was with knotted brows that Bruce looked down to see his olive-colored chest and its resident curly black hair, below which he was wearing a pair of solid boxers. Then he glanced at the also-shirtless-but-much-more-muscular-tan-and-overall-more-appealing Thor.

"I'll be back," he said darkly.

Rummaging through his duffel bag, he had a myriad of identical button-up shirts, something he realized shortly after finding his one t-shirt, a 'Stark Expo' one Tony had presented him with on his first visit to Stark Inc., Malibu.

After staring at it resentfully, he shrugged it on, dragged on some jeans - also Tony-given and approved - rejoined the team by the counter.

Natasha and Clint had joined the zombie-like party, identical cups of coffee in their capable hands as they leaned warily against the counter. They were dressed in their drastic, serious uniforms; black on black on black. The two gave him an identical sideways look, strong and pentrating gazes lingering over him longer than usual before returning uneventfully to their coffees.

Bruce sat down with the bowl of cereal, listening to Thor become increasingly boisterous as the sleep wore off.

"I would like to experience more of this Midgardian culture," he told everyone in his bass voice.

"Yeah," Tony agreed with subtle dryness. "So is that before or after we get Cap hooked on po-"

"Well," Pepper said with suspiciously impeccable timing, "that sounds great. We'll get some regular clothes for you, and we'll see if anybody else wants to come, and it'll be-"

"I'm out," Clint said.

"So am I," agreed Natasha quickly.

Steve quickly muttered a hurried sentence and excused himself.

Bruce glanced at Tony just as the billionaire turned to look at him.

"Shall we play?" Bruce echoed Tony's line from a month previous.

"Follow me, Doctor."

OoOoOo

Cambria leaned upward, head hanging between her knees. Her eyes were screwed shut as the dreams from the night previous looped through her head with frenzied intensity.

She tipsily found her way to the floor, standing to her feet with some unsuredness.

She hoped she hadn't screamed. That could cause some problems and generate some questions that she didn't want.

_Cambria Vale: Psychologist with more issues than any of her many charges. Suffers from PTSD, most common symptom being waking recollective nightmares. One screwed-up little twenty-six-year-old._

Padding to the bathroom, she leaned against the doorframe, staring into the mirror. She had to rearrange her face before going out- she had to put on her persona, something she'd been practicing since the second grade. She could thank her parents for that.

Her eyes were drooping and sad, a fact she corrected by tightening the surrounding muscles and angling them into a mischievous gleam. The tips of her mouth threatened to sag, and she bit her lip in a roguish, charming movement. Her hair was matted into a submissive knot, so she ran her fingers through the mass to give it some life. The edges of her shoulders were curved sorrowfully inward, so she forcefully pushed them back into a defiant, hard-cut square silhouette. Sucking in her belly to form a smooth _c, _she observed the jaunty, strong character with approval, turning to stride across the bedroom and out into Stark's building.

The kitchen was empty, nobody to be seen anywhere within her view.

So, preparing a makeshift breakfast consisting of cereal and milk, she trotted down the pristine, clean-cut wooden steps. "JARVIS? Where're Tony and Bruce?"

"Down in the lab. Would you like me to assist you there, Miss Vale?"

"Sounds good." And with that JARVIS began listing off directions, Cambria carefully carrying them out.

Her job was to stay close to Bruce and get to know his secrets. That's what Coulson had said; he was her main patient. How could she go about counseling him without being overtly obvious? How could she go about counseling _anyone _without being overtly obvious?

Cambria could shrug personas and attributes like an ill-fitting shirt; she'd been doing it for so long she was no longer even sure of what her true personality was. Not that she cared too much. It was just like she was a true method actor, never coming out-of-character, only switching to the next one when needed. There was her current personality she had locked into, 'Oblivious Sarcasm', along with several others, the most prominent being 'Removed Genius', 'Intense Controller', and 'The Seductress'.

But her current one was her favorite.

None of the others would be able to battle Tony Stark as well as Oblivious Sarcasm; Genius would have stuttered out a pathetic quibble, Controller exploded and unleashed her wrath, the Seductress letting out a husky laugh and approaching him suggestively.

"The door, Miss Vale," JARVIS interrupted her pensiveness. They had just gone down the steps and were now peeking inside the glass screen; a row of high-class, billion-dollar cars lined one side of the room, a plethora of high-tech pop-up mirages littering the air all around. Tony was tapping away at one of the holograms in front of his face, brow furrowed while his mouth chattered on busily to Bruce, who was leaning against the counter, fiddling with his fingers. He was clearly enraptured with what Tony was saying.

"Call me Cambria." Not awaiting the robotic reply, Cambria rolled her shoulders as Oblivious Sarcasm would, twisting the doorknob and bursting inside.

OoOoOo

"She'd be quite a catch, Doctor." Tony insisted.

"Really, I'm fine- the last relationship I was in... didn't go so well." Bruce answered in the customary wry, almost detached tone, husky and dry.

"Yeah, I know, General's daughter and stuff, but _Bruce_." Tony turned to him sincerely and found the scientist absently, dejectedly observing his nail scratch into the counter. "Have you _seen _that girl's ass?"

Bruce let out a short, humorless laugh and turned to meet Tony's eyes, head cocked with fed-up temper. "You don't understand- you have money and mansions and nice cars and Armani suits. You can _get _any girl with a nice... posterior... that you want. A scientific green wreck working in the sickness capital of the world isn't exactly a _chick magnet. _Besides! I don't even like her."

Tony could tell Bruce was uncomfortable and was enjoying every moment of it.

He turned as the glass door exploded open, Cambria striding in, a wicked grin on her babyish features.

Bruce rapidly turned a violent shade of red, coughed, and pivoted to continue his research on the thick laptop.

Tony looked at her. "Ah, look who it is. Cam-_bree_-uh Vale."

"And you're Anthony Hopkins, right? Nice to meet you." She turned to Bruce and bowed. "Mother Teresa."

"Wouldn't exactly say that, but... thanks anyway," Bruce muttered, typing busily at his computer, peering through the glass lenses down at the screen.

"You worked in India, right?"

"That..." he let out a rough laugh, "hardly equates me to Mother Teresa. I don't think she had an uncontrollable green giant locked up inside of her."

"Hey, man. Maybe she did."

"Yeah, man." Tony chimed in, turning to Bruce. "Maybe she did."

He looked at both of them, eyebrows raised. Then, snorting, he turned back to his text. "You two are ridiculous. You're like... potassium chlorate and sulfur."

Tony turned to Cambria, holding out his knuckle solemnly.

"What the hell is he talking about?" Cambria asked.

"Potassium chlorate and sulfur. Two elements that feed off of each other when mixed."

"Hell yes." Cambria bumped her knuckle against Tony's.

The billionaire watched sharply as Bruce chuffed, a slight smile of amusement on his face before he shook his head and returned to his computer.

"So what are you working on?" The girl wandered over to the gleaming row of priceless automobiles, inspecting Tony's favorite '32 Ford Flathead Roadster with the hot-rod red flames dancing across the exterior. She traced her finger along the flame, her mischievous expression flickering for a blazing second in a brief, telling tic.

Tony, studying her through a veiling hologram, stored this in his expansive mind and continued working. "Don't want any grubby little fingerprints on that one," he called to her, near-monotonous save the omnipresent wry sarcasm.

"We found some of the other guy's blood on Tony's suit," Bruce explained, absent, while gazing intensely at a projected chart. "We're just running some... general tests."

Cambria jerked open the car door, sliding inside.

"Ah-ah-ah!" Tony called, rapidly spinning to point an accusatory finger at the almost-thirty-year-old. "Get out of the car. Not that I don't trust you with it, but- I don't. Please exit the vehicle."

"You said 'please'! Good boy there." Regardless, she scooted herself out of the car, making her way across the lab to Tony. He concealed his slight surprise when she stopped herself merely a few inches away from his face.

"I try," he said, taking full note of her close proximity and the way Bruce's lip jerked up in a sharp twinge as his fingers hesitated before the hologram.

"Doesn't seem like it," she rummaged in her pocket before coming up triumphantly with a shining black iPhone. "Got your file right here."

"And I especially like the first-generation hunk of metal."

"So do I." She answered quickly, gold-brown eyes swiftly flicking to Bruce before settling back on Tony, her hand sliding back into her pocket. "So what's the plan for today?"

Bruce was decidedly mute, so Tony rattled off with a challenging note, "Well, you're the Project Manager. _You _tell _me_."

"More of a babysitter than anything else- I'm just here to make sure no one goes apeshit. How the hell I'm supposed to do that? No clue. So, technically, I'm just along for the ride." She answered belligerently.

Though undeniably enjoying her closeness, he noticed the subdued-rabid expression on Bruce's face and turned to his equations. "Good to know that you're, and this is self-labelled, 'useless'."

"Never said I was 'useless'. I make a damn good blackberry tart."

"Really." Tony's tone was skeptical and rebellious.

"Yeah. Want proof?" Her creamy-smooth face was in a slight, hidden smile.

"JARVIS has all the ingredients ready," Tony was tapping away at his work.

"I'll be down in forty-five minutes to beat the crap out of your stubborn idiocy," she swore as she pushed the door open with her back.

"I'm sure."

The glass door gently shifted to a shut.

Just as Tony turned for a pithy comment to Bruce, the door flew open to reveal the pajama-clad Cambria once again. "I need a second person. To roll the dough."

Tony seamlessly volunteered "Bruce, you heard the woman."

"I'll... very much stay down here, thank you. I'm a mess in the kitchen."

"Come on. I'll finish your graph." When Bruce stared, flat and unmoved, Tony looked at him. "As a guest of this house, I feel obliged that you help the underaged and plain weird Project Manager in her ridiculous baking escapade."

The scientist cast a withering glance at the billionaire before moving towards Cambria.

Cambria was beginning to think she had overdone it with Tony. Maybe she shouldn't have moved flirtatiously closer to him- it was merely an experiment to see his attachment to Pepper.

So Iron Man truly had found his mistress. The tabloids were right.

She honestly didn't in the least need anybody's, least of all _Bruce's_ help with baking. Her grandmother had, unfortunately, taught her to bake solo. She could do _anything _solo, _everything _solo- she _preferred _solo. But her job here was as analytical consultant-cum-counselor-cum-therapist, and she had seen analytical-cum-therapeutic promise in the activity and known Tony would default to sending Bruce with her.

Yet something was decidedly _off_ with the diminutive man. He played with his hands and avoided her gaze whenever she spoke to him. Something had happened.

JARVIS had laid everything onto the cupboard with the correct measurements sitting in their cups.

"Hell," Cambria remarked. "There's half the work."

Bruce uttered a short laugh.

She glanced at him before stepping forward to "You know, these really aren't that great. At all. They sort of taste like sawdust sprinkled on a dried greenbean. We're probably just going to end up grabbing them at the store, because _shit _if Tony's going to one-up me."

"Oh, don't worry. I love sawdust." He still avoided eye contact, which bothered her to no end.

As she dumped the ingredients necessary in a large, shining metal bowl and started whipping up a storm, she retorted, "You can be the one that ends up getting shipped to the hospital for getting one lodged in your throat then."

"Sounds great. So... what did you say you needed help with?" He asked, wringing his hands. He was dressed in a majorly pilled, silky purple button-up; Cambria had noticed and surmised it was one of the few articles of clothing he owned.

She was gifted with a quick mind, prone to lying. "As my baking slave, you shall sprinkle powder in this pan and roll out this lump of crust until it's about an inch bigger than fitting inside. _Capiche_?"

"_Capiche_," Bruce echoed in response, slowly taking hold of the pan and peering inside. He held up the rolling pin.

"No, that is not a weapon," Cambria supplied helpfully.

"Yeah, thanks. I was planning on attacking you if you hadn't told me."

"I could tell, what with the whole teddy-bear vibe you got going on."

He looked down at himself, rocking back onto his heels before looking back up with shy, chocolate eyes. "_Teddy-bear_ vibe? Ohoho, I don't think that really captures the essence of the _other guy_."

Despite herself, Cambria found herself with a real smile. Nothing forced, nothing planned. Just a spontaneous smile.

She turned and frowned to herself. Spontaneous smiling was unusual.

Ridding herself of the bother, she returned to her beating, the whisk whipping through the milky substance in the bowl with intensity. "Twenty-five percent of me thinks that we're going to get this recipe right."

"The other seventy-five percent?"

"Agrees that our chances of success are shot to hell."

He chuckled as he set the pan onto the counter opposite Cambria's, leaning his weight onto the rolling pin in an attempt to flatten the grainy hunk of crust. "The closest thing I've ever done to baking is living in a dessert shop out in Bangkok for a month or two."

"What, did they fry up the cockroaches? Coat 'em in caramel and call it good?"

He let out a dry laugh. "Close enough."

"I'm _always _close enough," Cambria gloated with a tone eerily reminsicent of Tony's. "Hey, you done with that yet, big guy?"

Oddly enough, Bruce found himself with warm cheeks when the nickname tumbled from her mouth- not that he romantically favored her. Last night was just an accidental paternal urge. Next time he'd let... someone _else _take care of that.

But no. Well, _yes, _she was undeniably cute with an attractive... physique, but he wasn't a_ttracted _to her. It'd just be stupid to be. It'd make no sense. It would never happen. Like with Betty.

Absent, he replied, "Ah, yes. Is it supposed to look like roadkill?"

Cambria was satisfied. The incident at the root of his previous nervousness had been forgotten, assuaged. Now, after the cooking, she would just need to peel away his psyche to reveal what it was that had caused it. She needed to stay distant and removed. "_Shit_, man. What the _hell _did you do to the dough? Unleash a rabid kitten on it?"

"And, what, you're contractually obliged to cuss seventeen times daily?" Bruce answered mildly, eyes wrinkled with a slight smile under permanently sympathetic brows.

"You counted."

"Subconsciously. It's a... little hard to miss."

Banner watched with vague interest as she pilchered the gleaming metallic pan from him, whirling around to whip open the fridge violently, shove it in, and slam it closed. "Maybe for a little Indo-virgin man like you. For me, _cuss _is a second language."

Cambria was testing the waters, so to speak. Pushing the borders. Seeing just how far she could make it, psychologically. Seeing what in particular bothered him- the _Indo _part bringing to his mind the horrors witnessed in Calcutta, while the _virgin _segment, naturally, stank of that Betty Ross.

She watched closely as he turned around, face carefully blank. "I think I prefer 'Mother Teresa' to 'Indo-virgin'," he said slowly, head tilted to the side.

Keeping in character, she disregarded the comment carelessly. "Oh, hell. Forgot to do that shitty custard-"

"Ah, JARVIS?" Bruce spoke quietly to the ceiling, bemused at the woman's antics.

"I'm on it, sir."

Unsure of what to do, Bruce nodded to the ceiling. "Um, thanks. And it'd be nice if you... didn't tell Tony-"

"I believe the Australians would say _No worries_, Dr. Banner. Ah, Miss Vale, I wouldn't recommend touching that. Mr. Stark can be extremely protective of his property."

Banner looked to see a gilded, thick sheet of paper locked in a glass case, Cambria hovering temptedly by it. "What, he'll kill me?" She snorted, peering closer at the words. "That'd get him some good publicity."

Frowning slightly, Bruce trotted swiftly down the majestic, swooping steps to inspect the certificate set eye-level into the wall. Tony, for all his grandiose, debonair arrogance, had mentioned nothing of any award.

In flowery, winding letters shining in burnt bronze, it read,

_Presented to Anthony T. Stark on January 1st of this new year, the twelfth in our millenium, for his great work in and generosity to the nation of Ke'gu in the aftermath of a recent seismic disaster. The Annual Akilli Award is hereby granted to the-_

Cambria briefly glanced up at him, which caused him to realize just the proximity of his body to hers. "Oh. Sorry." He hurriedly moved away, hands unintentionally starting on a strangling match.

For the first time, her showstopping, effulgent umber eyes cleared and he witnessed an endless well of veiled intelligence present in those roiling orbs as she took in his wringing hands before flicking up to his face. She looked at him with piercing yet quizzical curiosity, now completely void of the ignorant, humorous oblivion. She knew his secrets and could glimpse into the terrifying recesses of his mind.

But then the flash was gone and she was cynical and low again. "Alright, seriously- what did in hell's name did I _do _to you last night? Bang you?"

He didn't try to, but the words tumbled from his mouth in a husky, ridiculous phrase: "No, we just sort of... cuddled." His face was directed at the floor, but his eyes met hers.

She choked and let out a spluttering, "_What_ the _f*** _have you been _smok-"_

"No, it's not - what it sounds like. You were screaming last night-"

"_What_ the _fu-"_

"No, no. Oh, _jeeziss, _no, no, not like that; I mean, I woke up in the bedroom over because you were having a nightmare, so I... went in to try to maybe... calm you down, but you weren't stopping and you... looked like you needed to be... _comforted, _so... I did. Comfort you. Or try to. I mean, you were talking about your dad, and someone named Mitchell, and... being abandoned, so..." his voice lowered to an unintelligible, rough murmur.

Her face creased into a confused grimace.

OoOoOo

Cambria listened, heart beginning to throb arrhythmatically, frantically, deep in her chest. She could literally _feel _her psyche beginning to slip, to plunge into... _what? _

She knew what it was. It was his voice, mellifluous and rich and dry and innocent, like Mitchell's, before he got his head blown off.

No. She wouldn't do this. _Detached, detached, be f***ing detached, you shitfaced psycho! _

_I'm trying as hard as I f***ing can, idiot! Shut the hell up! _Another part of her raged back.

_Trying hard, my ass! I can feel the f***ing tears in our eyes!_

_Is it my fault we've had the shittiest life humanly possible?_

_Uh, it's your fault we're so f***-ed up!_

_No, talk to our subconscious about that, not me!_

_Oh, you're full of it._

_Whatever. Just... he's going to say something! Witty comeback! Quick!_

"Yeah, well, who _hasn't _had the shittiest childhood humanly possible?" Cambria's face unfroze, maybe just a little too jokingly.

"Cambria," for some reason, his voice made her spine tingle and she shivered. "You can't honestly think this is funny. I mean, you read my file..." his face twitched, "you know I had just a _shining _childhood, too."

Cambria considered this. Yes, she'd read his file backwards and forwards.

And her own life was ten times worse.

Her mind was racing for something quirky to say, but she was still reeling from the fact that he comforted her last night. That explained the awkwardness well enough, but revealed yet another facet of Bruce Banner's personality to analyze.

JARVIS' quaint, accented voice butted in. "I'm sorry to interrupt your tender moment, Miss Vale, but I've completed your tart. It is ready for inspection by Mr. Stark."

"Thanks, man." Cambria, glad of the distraction, bolted up the stairs to retrieve the admittedly beautiful dessert. She motioned violently and excitedly to Bruce. "Come, minion!"

OoOoOo

This time, there was no scream.

No sob.

No wail.

Just one of the many images etched into her mind flashed into her dream:

_A twisted body, gnarled from the current, perforated with twigs of assorted size, the blood slowly squeezing from the carcass. The skin, once majestically tanned with a tawny gleam, was leeched to a dusty violet, the eyes' beautiful color gone. They were bugging out in a cruel mockery, dead. Dead like the swollen, water-filled flesh. Dead like Cambria's soul._

_"Miss?" The police officer's face was puffy, ghostly in the flashing lights of his parked car. He glanced at the card in his hand. "Is this your husband?"_

_She was silent, sinking to the ground, cradling he drowned man's bloated face. "Mitchell," she whispered raggedly._

_"Miss, we need to know if this is your husband or your fiancée. Which one?" The puffy man was idiotically clumsy._

_She glanced up at the sky, the starless sky, the velvet-black sky. Why? _

_"Jeeziss. What happened to 'im?" She heard an officer mutter._

_"Guy was drunk, drove straight into the river. Pity he knocked over the guardrail: more construction work now. Ugh."_

_Cambria's forehead was on the ground, her lips moving in a fervent cadence. "No-no-no-no-no-no-no-no-no-no-no..."_

_She turned her head brokenly, eyes lingering on his thick, blue lips, then the stick impaled jokingly in his forearm. He was just a doll now. A fat, emotionless doll._

_Dead._

Cambria stifled the shriek as she shot awake, feeling desperately for someone. But no one was there.

Who would she even count on being there?

She realized it with a frown.

Bruce.

OoOoOo

**AWWW! She was expecting him but HE WASN'T THERE!**

**Anyway, what do you all think of this chapter? I just couldn't seem to get a handle on it; wasn't my favorite. **

**Eighty-point BONUS question: What are your opinions on the Bruce/Cambria?**

**Hundred-point BONUS question: Do you think Cambria should be rejecting Bruce, vice versa, or they're both yearning for each other and neither of them know it?**

**Million-point BONUS question: Should there be action/kidnapping in this fic, or should it just be exploring their relationship?**

**Yes, these points will culminate in something very special... so PLEASE! Review with your answers!**


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